Dear Sirs
by DougS
Summary: At the end of Season 3, Wesley writes a letter to his old friends in order to set things straight before moving on with his life. Pro-Wesley story.


Wesley Wyndam-Price stood at his kitchen sink, pouring a bottle of vodka into it until it was empty. With that finished, he threw the glass remains into the trash. He would have no need for the escape of alcohol anymore.   
  
Sitting back down at his laptop, Wesley stared into the glowing screen. He caught a hint of his reflection in the tabletop, his unshaven face staring back at him. When was the last time he'd shaved? A few days? A week? It was a passing thought that only distracted him momentarily from the task at hand.  
  
He began to type.  
  
"Dear Friends,"  
  
He stopped immediately. It was his first instinct to write that, a painful reminder of people he once held dear, ideas he once took as facts. He sighed and deleted it.  
  
"Dear Former Friends,"  
  
He smirked and shook his head. That wouldn't do at all. It still wasn't quite accurate, was it?  
  
He deleted it again.  
  
Wesley shot a glance up at the clock. What was it, three, four in the morning? The clock's batteries ran out two nights ago. It was hard to tell the time anymore, and what did it matter? It's not like he had any schedules to keep, not anymore.  
  
Setting his jaw, he finally wrote an acceptable opener.  
  
"Dear Sirs, "  
  
He nodded once to himself, satisifed. Impersonal. The perfect start for a business complaint letter, though this is certainly far more than business.  
  
The first hurdle finally out of the way, Wesley began to type furiously. Once he started, he scarcely paused until he reached the end.  
  
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Dear Sirs,  
  
I can predict with no small measure of certainty that this is a letter you never expected to receive. And indeed, it is a letter that I never intended to send. But all things require closure, and I have received none. No benefit of the doubt, no chance to air my side of the story. I suppose that there's not really much left to air. After all, you know all of the facts, and simply choose to ignore what they add up to. If it allows all of you the ability to sleep better at night, why not? Certainly, I slept better when I tried to ignore what recent events have forced me to realize. But living a life alone and unemployed affords a man a lot of time to ponder roads taken and come to grips with harsh realizations.  
  
If you had asked me three weeks ago whether I regretted my actions on that fateful night, the night that drained me of my blood, my friends and my life, I would have certainly said that I did. Even now, I can't help but miss the friends I've lost. It wasn't until I signed on with Angel Investigations that I truly felt I had found a place in the world. Working there afforded me the ability to make a difference in the world, to help change others people's lives for the better. For that opportunity, I thank you.  
  
The loss of that opportunity, and more importantly, of the love and respect of the people I called my friends is what drove me to wish many times that I had never carried Connor out of the Hyperion that night. And in truth, I suppose I still miss the life I had with all of you. But even as my heart wishes I could get it all back, my mind finally realizes that what happened that night was for the best.  
  
In all the days and nights since, I have been unable to come up with a better solution to the problem I faced. Prophecies are not supposed to lie — that's why they are prophecies, after all. Sahjhan altered the prophecy at the source, essentially changing recorded history. There was no way to disprove what was written. Believe me when I say that I tried to, from every conceivable angle. At every turn, I was told that the events prophecized were inevitable.  
  
And yet, I remained unconvinced. I knew that my only choice was to attempt to protect Connor at all costs. Not just because of earlier prophecies that told us that Connor could very well be a key player in the fate of the world, but, more importantly, because I loved him. We all did. He may be Angel's son genetically, but Connor was born into a family, and we all loved him as our own. I loved him as much as anyone could. And adding to that was my concern for his father, a man who I had come to consider my closest and dearest friend. I knew that Angel's grief would be unbearable if he were to kill his own son. His grief if he simply lost his son to a kidnapping was sure to be great, but could never hope to come close to the anguish he would experience at murdering the child that had brought new joy into his life.  
  
Even after I was repeatedly warned that the prophecy was inevitable destiny, I could not believe that Angel would ever harm Connor. But then, in one fell swoop, all three of the events listed in the prophecy as harbingers of Connor's death came to pass before my very eyes. Earthquake, fire, blood. The final straw was seeing Angel holding his son with bloodlust in his eyes as he called young Connor a "snack." Angel may try to deny that this ever happened. But you all know how Angel's blood was spiked with Connor's and how it drove him to extreme violence in combat and words of anger towards his son. It happened. You cannot deny it.  
  
My course of action was clear. I had no choice. Perhaps if Cordelia had been in town, I would have confided in someone. But there was no chance of that. Fred, you told me in the hospital that I was wrong not to come to the rest of you. How could I? Though you were blind to it, the truth is that Gunn and I lost our close friendship because of you. It could be called shallow, but we were driven apart by our feelings towards the same woman. Gunn began to see all of my actions in a hostile light as soon as he took up with you, and there was no chance that I could turn to him. If nothing else, he would have taken the information to Angel. For all of his claims that he cannot consider Angel a true friend because of his vampiric nature, Gunn still forms a bond with the people he charges into battle with. My bond with him was torn apart, but his bond with Angel remained. And of course I could never go to Angel. I had no idea what was driving him to want to feed on Connor. As far as I knew, he had somehow been transformed into Angelus. It wasn't safe to go to the person who seemed to have every desire to kill the child. As for you, Fred, the simple truth is that you have no conception of when something absolutely must be done. You always take a softer hand towards conflict whenever possible, and though that fresh take often serves the team at Angel Investigations well, this was no time for such an approach. Besides, would you not have taken any information I confided in you directly to Gunn? Now you all see why I could never have told you.  
  
As for the matter of dealing with Holtz, it was the only way to keep both parties busy. I felt confident that none of you would be hurt by Holtz's rather inept minions, especially after I managed to walk into their headquarters and throw my weight around with minimal fuss. I needed to make sure that both you and Holtz were prevented from following me, so that I could protect Connor from both of you. I'm sorry, but it was the only answer.  
  
Of course, this is all a moot point now, isn't it? Now I realize that none of you were ever really my friends.  
  
Lilah Morgan has been visiting me recently, trying to lure me into a life at Wolfram & Hart. To that end, she has recently provided me with all of the latest surveillance material that the law firm has procured of you, my former friends. Though I was initially skeptical, it did not take long to prove the veracity of these materials.  
  
Gunn, I saw exactly how you felt about me when you came to me that night to beg for my help saving Fred. You didn't care how I laid in that park, keeping myself alive with thoughts of how my friends would be there for me, only to find that none of them cared about me anymore. As I told you then, you did not deserve my help. You still do not. I have read the statements you have made about me. I have read your anger at how I "stole" Connor. You yourself have told me how you don't care about my side of the story. All of this, even though you know the truth. You know the origin of the false prophecies. Justine has confessed to you that I never intended to take the baby to Holtz. And yet still you blame me. I took a bullet for you once, because I was willing to die to protect a friend I cared for deeply. And yet you can't even stand to hear me out. Maybe it's your survival instincts that prevent you from being truly loyal to the people you claim to consider "friends." Maybe it's just that you still hate me for once desiring the same woman as you. Whatever the reason, I'm at a loss. Your actions are certainly nothing less than petty. Possibly even reprehensible.  
  
Fred, you are the one member of the Angel Investigations staff that I still feel the most affection for. Don't worry, I no longer harbor any romantic feelings towards you. I'm sorry if the knowledge that I once did makes you feel uncomfortable. You warned me to stay away from the hotel for my own good. You were the only one willing to bring my things to me in the hospital. I thank you for that. Yet even you have shown a darker nature to me. That very same day in the hospital, you told me that what I did was for nothing because the prophecy was fake, and told me what a fool I was for not confiding in you and the others. I have already detailed why I could not tell anyone what I have uncovered. You already know that I could not possibly have known that the prophecy was false. Yet you came to me and unloaded this information on me, information that you had to know would come to me as a crushing blow. And you did it when you knew that I could not even speak to you, to offer my side or to respond to this revelation. Why would you do something so cruel? As near as I can tell, you simply wanted to unleash all of your frustrations onto an easy target. I hope it made you feel better.  
  
Cordelia, you revealed your true colors when you told the others that Angel was your only priority. You haven't spared me a second thought since you returned home. I hope one day that you learn that being friends with more than one person means not playing favorites. You should never remove one friend from your life when you decide that you like another one better. I don't know if you ever fully learned my side of the story. It seems that you never cared enough to find out. I guess we are all lucky that you weren't in town when these events unfolded. I would have been a fool to confide in you, someone who gives no regard whatsoever to her "friends."  
  
Lorne, though I know you are not officially a member of Angel Investigations, and that you now live in Las Vegas, I must, in some way, express my gratitude to you for supporting me even after I was gone. It was you who told Angel that he should learn to forgive me, when no one else cared enough about me to do that. You have the most reason to hate me of anyone — it was wrong of me to attack you that night. When I think back on that moment, I feel like a villian. I acted rashly in the heat of the moment. Maybe I could have explained the situation to you instead of doing what I did. I was never as close to you as the others, and I physically attacked you without adequate provocation, yet you were the first and only person to come to my defense. Thank you again, wherever you may be.  
  
And finally, Angel. What can I say to you? You were told by Justine that I never intended to take Connor to her and Holtz, that I only wanted to take him away to protect him. Yet you let Justine go that day, and tried to kill me that night. You were able to forgive Holtz for plotting to steal Connor, for slitting my throat and taking him into a demon dimension, for robbing you of the experience of seeing your son grow up. Yet still you depise me and consider me a traitor. I've been told there are even rumors at Wolfram & Hart that you forgave your son Connor before he plunged you into the ocean because he blames you unfairly for killing Holtz. How ironic that you are now being blamed by your son for something that was not your fault, just as you still do to me. The word is that Gunn and Fred are already close to finding you. I know you will live to see your son again. Will you still despise me then? I'm certain that you will. After all, you forgave Holtz for being responsible for everything that happened to your child that night that you claim I betrayed you. You know that I did everything I could to protect your child, and still you wish to see me dead. You are a hypocrite of the highest order. I once felt that you were a good man trapped in the form of a monster. Now I realize that you have become a monster both within and without. At least when you were Angelus, you had the excuse of not having a soul. Now you don't even have that as an excuse for your actions. I hope that in time, you learn to be more than what you have turned into.  
  
It's hard to realize that I've spent more than two years of my life allied with people I called my friends, who in truth clearly never cared as much for me as I did for them. But Angel, once upon a time you slept with one of your enemies, and that action led you to an epiphany. As it turns out, I have done the same. Only in our deepest despair do we realize what we are truly meant for. And after sinking to the depths, I see that I am not meant to sit here and accept the blame, nor am I meant to join forces with an organization as evil as Wolfram & Hart — not that such a thing was ever truly a possibility, of course. My soul-searching has led me to realize that I did the best that I could with the hand I was dealt. I made the right decision. And yet now I find myself being called a traitor. After reading this letter, I hope that you all reconsider who the betrayers are in this situation, and who are the betrayed.  
  
Even so, I can't stop caring about all of you. You were my friends for more than two years. It's hard to let go of those emotional bonds. So I hope that you all grow and learn from this, and I thank you for giving me the chance to make a difference, if only for a short time. I hope that you all learn to watch your backs; all of you claim to be friends of each other, but you've all proven that your loyalty to your friends is nonexistent. You may soon find yourselves driving knives into each other, but I hope that you don't, and that you take this opportunity to form true bonds instead. Good luck with your future. Mine is elsewhere. It is time that I moved on from this city and made a difference in another place, fighting evil in my own way and forming friendships with people who know the value of loyalty.   
  
Good luck to us all. We will need it.  
  
Sincerely,  
Wesley Wyndam-Price  
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Wesley printed out a copy of the letter and read it over. As he did so, he could feel the weight lifting from his shoulders. He laid the letter down on the coffee table. It was true what he said; he never intended to send it. Maybe one day, one of them would find it. Maybe it would be thrown out when the apartment was cleaned out. The latter was certainly more likely, but either way, it didn't matter. What mattered was that writing the letter had been an emotional release. He had finally attained the closure he'd been seeking.  
  
Folding his laptop shut, Wesley went into his bedroom and picked up his suitcase. With his bag in one arm and his laptop under the other, he strode towards the door. He would take his most precious personal belongings and the necessities, and he would travel light. He would find a new life for himself elsewhere. In another city, another place, he would help the hopeless again. Maybe he'd even shave. The thought made a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.  
  
Wesley took one last look around his apartment. He sighed. His life had been full of transitions for years now. From Watcher in Sunnydale to rogue demon hunter to Angel Investigations in L.A. And now he was about to take another try at finding his fate. His last three jobs had been mistakes of varying degrees, but the beauty of life was that you always had another chance to start over. Sometimes whether you wanted to or not. The time had come to take another chance, and who knows? This time, maybe he'd finally find his destiny.  
  
Switching off the lights, Wesley Wyndam-Price shut the door and locked it.  
  
"Good luck to us all," he said to himself. "We will need it." 


End file.
